Skyrim: A Story Untold
by Masser
Summary: Wulf Weard is a Bosmer whose search for answers has lead her to Skyrim. Little does she know that her destiny is intertwined with the fate of Skyrim itself.
1. Chapter 1

Shards of afternoon sun slashed between the pine trees as the caravan made its way down the steep mountain path. The Imperial guardsmen were wary, knowing that they held in their grasp the end of the war. They had the Stormcloak Rebellion's leader - Ulfric Stormcloak - tied and gagged, having been caught trying to rendevous with his Lieutenants on the border to Cyrodill. It had been a rough journey, and the prisoners were beginning to become restless as the caravan neared Helgen. All but one knew what awaited them, and she was about to have a rude awakening.

The Bosmer's eyes creaked open as the carriage she was in jostled over loosely cobbled road. The bruises on her wrists from her bindings ached. It hadn't been long since she was caught in the ambush as she tried to pass into Skyrim. They were rough as they grabbed her, cold gauntlets and rough hands grappling her wrists like they were twigs to be snapped into kindling. Despite Imperials usually being kind to those of Mer descent, she had been handled with just as much contempt as the Stormcloaks being herded into the carriages. She knew that resistance was futile, even though the methodical Imperials would have waited until she was at Helgen to face her fate. Fatigue had overtaken her as the carriage wound its way down the moutain, and she had fallen into a dreamless slumber.

The Stormcloak soldier regarded the Bosmer with interest. His blonde hair framed his rough face, smeared with the dirt of travel and time. His blue eyes pierced through the Bosmer. He was what one would call a true Nord. Hardy, reliable.  
"Hey, you, you're finally awake"  
His voice was gruff as the carriage grumbled over the harsh road. The Bosmer nodded.  
"Got caught trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."  
He looked towards the ragged man, whose forehead was creased into a frown.  
"Damn you Stormcloaks. I could have been halfway to Hammerfell by now. Elf, you and I shouldn't be here. It's these bloody Stormcloaks the Empire wants."  
The Nord man sitting across from the Bosmer sighed.  
"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now."  
The carriage jolted violently over a loose stone in the road, a muffled groan came from the man beside the Bosmer. The thief watched him with curiosity.  
"What's up with him?"  
The Nord man looked at the theif incredulously.  
"That's Ulfric Stormcloak, true High King of Skyrim. I suggest you watch your tongue."  
The warning in his words scared the Bosmer, her fear was only heightened by the agitation of the thief as he began to wriggle.  
"Ulfric Stormcloak.. I thought.. I thought.. Oh Gods, if they have him, where are they taking us?"

The Bosmer looked up as they made their way into Helgen. Smooth stone towers leered down upon the caravan as it curved through the streets. She sighed. Freedom was never an option; she'd spent months preparing for her border crossing to escape out of Cyrodiil, out of the zombie infested Ayelid ruins she'd been hiding in. Now she was stuck. Bound and headed to what the Nords called Sovngarde, if it even existed. The caravan shunted into the main square of Helgen, and the prisoners were lead out of the carriage. A young Imperial stood before them, a scroll of names in one hand, quill in another. Despite his armour, he looked almost scholarly. His voice sounded clear as a bell.  
"Ralof of Riverwood."  
The blonde Nord stepped forward, exchanged glances with the young Imperial and muttered something under his breath. Sadness clouded the Imperial's dark eyes. He whispered something as Ralof was guided over to the Headsman. Shaking the growing mist from his eyes, he cleared his throat and spoke again.  
"Lokir of Rorikstead."  
The thief stumbled forward, his voice wavering as he pleaded.  
"I'm not with them, I'm innocent, I tell you!"  
The Bosmer looked down as he attempted to escape his captors. She heard the swish of the arrow as he fell to the ground only meters away. The Imperial continued, clearing his throat once more.  
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."  
The gagged man walked forward with his head held high, marching himself over to the headsman. The young Imperial looked to the Bosmer.  
"Excuse me, but, who are you? You're not on our list."  
She stepped forward.  
"My name is Wulf Weard. I hail from Cyrodiil."  
Her voice was stony. There was no time for weakness now, she would only be a failure if she broke down. The young Imperial's face crinkled with concern.  
"It's not usual for a Bosmer to come alone to Skyrim. What was your business here?"  
Wulf smirked.  
"None of yours."  
The young Imperial sighed. Today couldn't get any worse. He gestured for Wulf to walk over to the headsman. She complied, resigned to her fate. The headsman was clad in black, his axe as long as his arm. The first Stormcloak was lead to the block. Wulf looked ahead, blocking each wave of pure fear with her will. The dull fwhump of the axe made her sick. Someone's whole life was just wiped away in a second. She knew that no one would miss her, but she wished someone would. An imperial guardsman called to her.  
"You, the Bosmer, you next."  
Wulf swallowed hard. She wouldn't be able to do that in a few moments. Her final steps towards the block felt heavy and dull. She prayed that the blade of the axe was sharp enough for one single swoop. Bending down to the block, she looked into the eyes of the head in the basket beneath hers. What had they seen? What bitter winters, what sweet summer romances? Was there a woman weeping somewhere, a mother, a sister or a lover, for that man? She would never know. But there were a lot of things that Wulf would never know. Her head spun with thoughts and regrets as a dead man's blood touched her bare neck. The headsman lifted his axe. Wulf whispered to herself, a tear slipping from her closed eyes.  
"Sovngarde awaits."

They never saw it coming. A black monstrosity, with burning red eyes. Wings that could whip up a wind so foul it would blow away all but the bare rocks, with claws sharper than the best blades in all of Tamriel.  
A dragon.

Wulf blinked a few times as waves of sound hit her. Hands still bound, she stumbled towards the towers of the keep, losing her balance as she dodged flaming rocks falling from the sky. What was happening? She saw the creature but she didn't believe it. Surely it must be some sort of illusion magic, perhaps some Stormcloak finally decided to use some? The use of a creature like that would turn the tide of the war, the Empire would be out. She slammed her body into the door of a tower and fell to the gritty stone floor, unable to keep her balance. Ralof, the young Nord looked to her.  
"Gods, are you alright? Good thing you got out of there."  
He grabbed Wulf's arm and pulled her up. Ulfric Stormcloak had also escaped. His gag was removed and he was steadily pacing back and forth. His voice boomed slightly as he began to speak  
"The legends are true. The dragons exist. Ralof, do you think this was the Empire's doing?"  
Ralof shook his head.  
"If anything, my Jarl, I think they will assume this was on our heads."  
Ulfric's eyes narrowed.  
"In any case, we must get out of here and quickly. That dragon is nothing but trouble. We must go. You, Elf, help Ralof here find a safe way out of the keep."

Wulf stuck with Ralof as they explored the tower.  
"So, Elf, what is your name?"  
Wulf cleared her throat.  
"Wulf. Wulf Weard."  
Ralof paused and turned to look at her, eyes filled with curiosity.  
"That's an interesting name for a Bosmer. Wolf Guardian, eh? That's what your name means."  
Wulf nodded. They continued walking.  
"So how did you come by that name, then?"  
Wulf knew that Ralof was likely to ask more questions, but in this situation she was less than willing to embark on the story surrounding her name.  
"It's a long story, I think we'd be dragon food before I could finish telling you." She smiled, trying to ward Ralof off.  
"I think you're right, my friend." He smiled in return.  
Ralof disappeared around a corner, and Wulf let her smile drop. This trip to Skyrim was supposed to be simple. Get in, find the information she needed, get out.  
"Wulf, I think I've found a way out to the roof! We can scout from there." Ralof sounded like an excited puppy.  
She hurried around the corner to find him already partway up the stairs.  
"Here, we can go this way-"  
Ralof was cut off by thundering words followed huge blast of fire bursting through the tower wall just before him. The dragon glared at Ralof and Wulf before its attention was grabbed by the soldiers attacking him down below. A shudder ran through Wulf's body as the dragon seemed to utter some words  
"Rek LosFahliil."  
Wulf watched the dragon fly over to the soldiers shooting at him. Ralof took the chance and grabbed her arm, moving her back to the opposite wall to the dragon-made hole.  
"When I say go, run and then jump." Ralof's voice interrupted her thoughts. She nodded.  
"Okay."  
Ralof nodded in return and linked his arm through hers.  
"Jump!" 

They landed on a partially destroyed house, falling through the ceiling as it collapsed beneath them. Ralof caught Wulf just as she was going to tumble down to the first floor.  
"Aye, maybe that could have gone better."  
The grazes on Wulf's legs agreed.  
Ralof's eyes widened as he looked back at the tower. An angry Ulfric Stormcloak stood staring out of the hole they had jumped from. Ralof helped Wulf upright and quickly unbound her wrists. He looked Wulf in the eyes.  
"Go, reach the courtyard. I'll meet you there."  
Ralof turned away and started helping Ulfric down into the ruined house.  
"I'm sorry, my Jarl, but her hands were still bound. I had to."  
The poison in Ulfric's voice as he chastised Ralof faded to the back of Wulf's mind as she jumped down to the first level of the house, able to land properly this time. Peering out of the shattered entryway, she worked her way around to the back of a stone-walled house. Helgen was a mess. Barely any buildings were still whole. She jumped as the roaring of wings passed over her, and made haste to hide out of sight of the dragon up against a wall. She shut her eyes as its claws scraped the stones just above her. She could feel its body emanating heat, and a sensation of something else she couldn't quite grasp. Her body froze as she felt a claw brush her shoulder. Wulf held her breath, and slowly looked up. Blood red eyes gleamed from deeply shadowed sockets, fangs glinting in the light of the burning houses. The dragon was looking at her. Its jaw moved and she flinched, thinking it was going to swallow her completely. Instead, it spoke.  
"Your time will come. For today, I will let you live."  
Wulf collapsed after it lifted itself from the wall behind her and flew away. Her time would come? What did the dragon mean? Why in Shor's name would a dragon even talk to her, for Sovngarde's sake? She shook her head and tried to stand. No good would come on depending on the gods, or taking their names in vain. She had questions to answer, and the dragon only made her ask more. Despite her legs wobbling, she started into a run towards what she thought Ralof meant as the courtyard. An empty space, devoid of protection from every angle. Ralof and the young Imperial stood near the centre in a rather one-sided argument. Ralof's voiced ricocheted across the courtyard.  
"Hadvar, you don't need to do this."  
Hadvar, who Wulf had picked up was the young Imperial, spoke calmly despite Ralof's anger.  
"Ralof, you know my father was a legionnaire. This is what I want to do. I believe in the Empire."  
Hadvar turned to Wulf as she got closer to the pair.  
"You, Elf. Wulf, was it?"  
Wulf nodded.  
"Come with me, you'll be safer."  
Ralof took Wulf's arm and almost glared at her.  
"Don't you dare go with him. He's a damned traitor to his homeland and you deserve better." Hadvar looked shocked at Ralof's words, his voice trembled on the verge of anger as he grabbed Wulf's other arm.  
"No, please, come with me. The Stormcloaks don't want freedom, they want to rid Skyrim of everyone but the Nords. Please, come with me."  
Wulf looked from Ralof to Hadvar, who were glaring at each other. She flicked her arms out of their grip and pulled them both hastily to the nearest keep.

Wulf sat them down at the rather convenient table that was before her as she entered the keep and briefly bound their wrists.  
"Now. You two. We're all going to die if you don't reconcile yourselves for five minutes and work together.  
Ralof glared at Wulf. She was taken aback by his spite despite his kindness before, but she stared right back into his eyes witheringly.  
"I'm only going to untie if you're ready to work together."  
Hadvar sighed.  
"Look, Ralof, I'll try-"  
"Fine. Let us free, Wulf."  
Ralof's near-icy voice would have frozen the warmest of hearths. Wulf shuddered a little as she cut their bindings.  
"Now, where do we go from here. Do you have any ideas, Hadvar?"  
Hadvar nodded.  
"I think we need to go underground. That dragon will be looking for any survivors"  
Wulf nodded in agreement.  
"What do you think, Ralof?"  
Ralof stood turned away with his arms crossed with a slight pout on his face. He muttered something under his breath. Wulf cleared her throat.  
"Come again, Ralof?"  
Ralof turned to face her and Hadvar. His voice dripped with sarcasm.  
"I think it would be a fine idea, Wulf Weard."  
Wulf raised an eyebrow.  
"Do you have any better ideas, 'Ralof of Riverwood'?"  
Ralof pouted.  
"No."

The two of them bickered as they made their way through the keep. Wulf kept an eye on them but knew they would likely not kill each other. Well, hopefully. She salvaged some armour from a fallen Imperial soldier and Ralof looked at her scathingly.  
"So, you're on _their_ side?"  
Wulf rolled her eyes.  
"Do you see where I'm getting this bloody armour from? The man is dead, I'm in rags and will probably get killed if I don't put something better on to protect myself. I'm not joining either side of the war yet."  
Hadvar looked at her hopefully.  
"Yet?"  
Wulf sighed and pulled on the leather helm.  
"I might join up, I might not. Depends on how much the war gets in my way."  
Hadvar nodded solemnly and Ralof watched him, slight sadness misting over in his eyes. His mouth moved, but she heard nothing come from it.  
Hadvar noticed Wulf looking at Ralof.  
"Did you say something?"  
Ralof shook his head. He cleared his throat.  
"No, just thinking to myself."  
Hadvar shook his head and went further into the keep. There was a path moving underground, and it seemed like the best way to get away from the dragon. Ralof stopped Wulf just as she began to follow Hadvar down the slope.  
"Wulf, to tell the truth, I don't want to fight him."  
Wulf looked him in the eyes and smiled sadly.  
"I know."  
Hadvar called from down the passage, telling Wulf and Ralof to get a move on. Wulf put a hand on Ralof's shoulder and gestured for him to go ahead. He jogged down the slope, trying to make up for his slight emotional outburst to an almost complete stranger.

Hadvar was waiting next to a lever, putting his finger to his lips as Wulf and Ralof approached. They crouched and snuck closer, hearing voices on the other side. There was a drawbridge up against the opening into the next room. Wulf crept closer and peered through the slats of the wooden bridge. Three Stormcloaks were trying to figure out how to progress through the tunnels. She turned to Hadvar and gestured to him to release the bridge. It came down with a large thump, alerting the Stormcloak soldiers of their position. Hadvar jumped up and went running in with his sword, stabbing a soldier through the gut. Another jumped on his back as he pulled his sword from the soldier falling to the ground before him. Wulf almost jumped out, but realised she had no weapon. No sword, no bow... She had some spells but they were weak and wouldn't defeat the Stormcloak that was almost strangling Hadvar. Beside her there was a mighty cry and Ralof leapt forward, his greatsword waving before him. He ran up to Hadvar and with a mighty downwards swing of his sword, sliced off the arms of the Stormcloak before him. Hadvar looked at him in astonishment. The still-living Stormcloak ran at Ralof, screaming.  
"YOU TRAITOR!"  
Hadvar ran his sword through the Stormcloak before they could get behind him to Ralof. Blood spattered all over Ralof and Hadvar's uniforms. Ralof stood in silence over his dead comrades. Wulf clambered out from the passage and stood up, surveying the damage. Ralof's face was completely blank, Hadvar stood next to him, looking at the now armless and pierced Stormcloaks. She walked by them, allowing them a moment to take in what had just happened. She waited in the next passageway, listening for their footsteps. Sometimes the bonds of friendship extended deeper than that of comradeship, Wulf knew that well. She'd left her only friend in Cyrodiil, but that didn't matter now. She needed to get out of this cave. Slow shuffled footsteps, along with quicker more brisk ones made Wulf's ears prick up. She let them take their time. As they rounded the corner, Wulf noticed Hadvar's hand gripping Ralof's wrist. Ralof was consumed by silent tears. She looked to Hadvar, whose brow was crumpled. He spoke softly.  
"Wulf, let's go."  
She nodded.  
They walked down the passage in silence. Ralof could be heard sniffing occasionally. Wulf knew that he was questioning himself, one quick glance at his face told her that instantly. The wall ahead of them was blocked off by boulders, but Wulf could see some sunlight coming out of a small crack near the top. She clambered up and peered through. An imperial road ran nearby, cobblestones nailed into Skyrim's frozen dirt roads. A loud sob came from Ralof. Wulf looked back, thinking he had hurt himself, or that Hadvar had done something unthinkable, but Hadvar was holding him. He stroked his head and whispered to him. Wulf couldn't make out what he was saying, but from the way he looked, she knew there was a lot more to their relationship than she had already discovered. She pulled at the rocks before her, smaller than the boulders beneath her, and cleared a small path out into the sunlight.

The bright light burned her eyes after the journey through the cave. Ralof and Hadvar stood apart from one another, leaving their tender moment behind them. She sighed. Nords were always difficult around their emotions. It was best not to interfere, since she knew they'd both probably become defensive if she told them what she thought. They walked towards the road, looking for signs. Ralof spoke up, his voice slightly hoarse from the crying.  
"Riverwood is near here, we should go ho- I mean we should go there."  
He looked to Hadvar, who simply nodded. Wulf smiled.  
"Alright, guess we're off to Riverwood then!"


	2. Chapter 2

Two guards stood before the gate of Riverwood, cautiously watching Wulf, Ralof and Hadvar approach. It was unusual to see two apparent supporters of the Empire (given Wulf's armour) and a Stormcloak walking together, and into a town together too. The guards moved forward to intercept them.  
"State your business."  
Wulf answered them steadily.  
"We've just come from Helgen, we need to resupply. I also have reason to believe that these two men live here."  
The guards looked at Hadvar and Ralof closely.  
"By the Gods, it's Hadvar and Ralof!" They laughed. "It's been a while since we've seen you two! Always together, now on opposite sides of the war! Say, why are you all so dirty? Got in a scrap, eh?"  
Ralof nodded, groaning and feigning injury. Hadvar spoke up.  
"We got into a bit of trouble just outside Helgen. Wulf here helped us get out."  
The guards nodded.  
"Looks like Ralof needs a healer, we'll open the gate right away."  
After they had passed the guards, Ralof slowly stood back up. Wulf was quite impressed, she knew Ralof wasn't injured, but his acting was quite good. Perhaps his skills extended further than simply combat. She looked around the village. The timber houses looked deceivingly frail beside the short stone walls around the village. Weathered walls leaned against carved tree trunks, the pillars holding up the houses from their stone foundations. Wulf liked Nordic architecture. It was sturdy, even if it looked breakable. After all, it had to survive Skyrim's winters. Ralof and Hadvar were deep in discussion as Wulf looked at the intricate carvings on the pillars of the house they stood before. Hadvar tapped her on her shoulder.  
"We've decided that we should split up. After all, it's not a good look for either of us considering our alleigances. Come with me, we can rest up at my Uncle's."  
Wulf considered this.  
"So, where's Ralof going?"  
Hadvar's eyes shifted to the side.  
"He's going back to the Stormcloaks in Windhelm. I don't like it, but it is his choice." He sighed. "I guess he wants to repent for what happe-"  
Hadvar was interrupted by Ralof, who had begun to walk over to them during their conversation.  
"I want to serve my Jarl, and help Skyrim become free again." His voice was cold and stony. "It's what I must do, for Talos."  
The look in Ralof's eyes sent a shudder down Wulf's spine. Where had he gone? Even Hadvar looked almost scared of Ralof, trying not to look him in the eyes. This may be the last time they saw one another, and then they might still have to fight against each other in battle. They should have been shaking hands, agreeing to both fight bravely. But they were standing alone together. Hadvar shrunk into his armour, clearly uncomfortable with Ralof's tone. Ralof stood upright, yet his eyes were dull. His pride was gone. Wulf put her hand on Ralof's shoulder and spoke.  
"Ralof."  
His eyes sunk into his face, like two blue stagnant ponds. She tried pry them open, digging for the Ralof she met only hours ago.  
"Thank you." She smiled. "For unbinding me, and for helping Hadvar and I get through that cave. We couldn't have done it without you."  
He grunted. She spoke again.  
"I wish you the best of luck, may the Nine be with you." She smiled once more, and Ralof stared into her eyes, a deep sadness beginning to emanate, water almost spilling into of his eyes. Pulling away from Wulf he mumbled a thank you and quickly turned away, hastily making his way to the other side of the village. Hadvar followed him for a few steps but Wulf stopped him. Where Ralof was going, Hadvar could never follow.

Hadvar's uncle, Alvor, was a jolly man well into his fifties with a rather large brown beard. He sat at the table across from Hadvar, listening to him recount the dragon attack on Helgen. They had only been in the house a few moments before Alvor asked how Wulf and Hadvar knew one another. The second Hadvar had mentioned the dragon, Alvor was fascinated. He watched Hadvar talk with childlike excitement, his eyes brimming with the story Hadvar was weaving. Only after Hadvar was finished did Alvor realise that Hadvar was telling the absolute truth. He turned to Wulf. He had a thick accent, and his voice almost bounced as he spoke.  
"So, you saw the beast too?"  
Wulf nodded and went to speak, but Alvor cut her off, almost speaking to himself.  
"We'll need to tell the Jarl, if there's really a dragon on the loose. By the Eight, I thought they were just legends made to scare us ordinary folk." He looked to Hadvar. "Hadvar, can you go to Jarl Balgruuf?"  
Hadvar shook his head.  
"I need to report back to General Tullius. He needs as much detail as he can get."  
Alvor nodded, stroking his beard.  
"Could you go, Elf?"  
Wulf smiled.  
"The name's Wulf - Wulf Weard."  
Alvor grinned.  
"Aye, that's a good name, lass."  
Wulf smiled widely, appreciating the compliment. An older Nord woman of short stature entered the house as Hadvar began talking to Alvor again. She was a rugged woman, her eyes sharp yet kind. Alvor turned around from his seat and smiled at her.  
"Sigrid, would you believe me if I told you that Hadvar saw a dragon?"  
Sigrid looked at Alvor incredulously, then narrowed her gaze. Her accent wasn't as thick as Alvor's, but she still had a lot of strength to her tone.  
"Alvor, have you been drinking? Hadvar, what is he on about?"  
Hadvar laughed.  
"It's alright Aunt, I have indeed seen a dragon."  
She looked walked over to him and looked at him closely.  
"Alvor, I think Hadvar's been tricked by a Kajiiht trader. He must have had some of that ruddy Skooma to be seeing dragons. Who's this?" She gestured to Wulf.  
"I'm Wulf, ma'am. I was with Hadvar when the dragon attacked."  
Sigrid smiled.  
"So, I guess Hadvar wasn't drinking Skooma, and you aren't drunk then, Husband?"  
Alvor laughed.  
"They tell nothing but the truth, Sigrid."  
Sigrid sighed.  
"Well, if that's so, they're probably both mighty hungry." She looked to Wulf and Hadvar. "How does rabbit stew sound to you two?"  
Hadvar nodded vigorously at his Aunt's suggestion, whilst Wulf politely nodded.

The stew was delicious. Wulf hadn't had a proper meal for days, living on salted elk and rabbit wasn't the best diet. She wolfed it down, devouring every morsel in her bowl before Hadvar could even get halfway through his. Sigrid grinned as Wulf politely used her spoon to get the last of the juice of the stew from her bowl. She laughed as she asked Wulf if she wanted more. Wulf nodded and watched with eyes gleaming as the bowl was refilled with steaming potatoes and chunks of rabbit. A thought crossed Hadvar's face as Wulf continued to stuff hers with the stew. He cleared his throat and spoke.  
"I'm sorry if this is prying, Wulf, but isn't it against Bosmer tradition to eat animals?"  
Wulf swallowed her mouthful.  
"No, we're carnivores." She grinned.  
Hadvar looked very confused.  
"Bosmer, or Wood-Elves, as some people call us, have this agreement called the Green Pact. The Bosmer have promised never to harm or eat the vegetation of Valenwood, in return for Y'ffre's patronage."  
Hadvar raised an eyebrow.  
"Y'ffre?" He asked.  
"The spirit of the now." Wulf answered. "I personally don't worship him, as I've been out of Valenwood for a long time now, but I still respect him. We worship the Eight, too. There's a lot of diversity in Valenwood."  
Hadvar looked lost in thought as Alvor sat back from his bowl, patting his full stomach.  
"That was the most delicious stew yet, Sigrid. What did you put in this time?"  
Sigrid smiled.  
"You should ask Dorthe, husband. She helped me make it!"  
Wulf noticed the small girl sitting at the other end of the table from her, she had been silent the whole time. Wulf felt guilty that she didn't notice her earlier.  
Alvor picked up his bowl and gestured for Wulf to pass hers, he continued to collect the rest of the bowls as he spoke  
"So, what did you put in, Dorthe? Lavender? Mountain Flowers?" He laughed and ruffled Dorthe's dark hair as he returned from putting the bowls in the washbasin. "Aye lass, it doesn't matter what you put in. I'm proud of you for making such a fine stew with ye mother." Dorthe wriggled out from under his hand and asked her mother if she could go play. Sigrid nodded and Dorthe ran downstairs to her room. Sigrid smiled.  
"She's such a good girl, quiet, but good. She's been out and about a lot recently. She and some of the other children went out of the village to look for mushrooms, today. I'm glad she's making friends." Sigrid sighed. "I was worried she wouldn't. There aren't many kids in this town, and they're all a little older than her. Guess my little one is growing up."  
Alvor took Sigrid's hand and held it, looking into her eyes.  
"They all grow up in the end, Sigrid. I mean, just look at our nephew! A grown man, and a leigonnaire. We're proud of you, Hadvar. How's the war looking, by the way?"  
Hadvar blushed slightly at the compliments and pondered Alvor's question before answering.  
"Well, with this dragon business we don't quite know. I'm going to have to get back to Solitude and report to General Tullius. Despite capturing Ulfric, we still didn't manage to execute him, though I think that isn't what's right. It was the perfect opportunity to end the war though. It's important the Empire stops this rebellion soon. The Thalmor had the Empire by the throat, and now they're simply sitting with their ears against the door. If Skyrim rebels, the treaty might be broken, and that's the last thing we need."  
A silence fell over the table and Hadvar's voice fell to a whisper.  
"Otherwise, the Thalmor will destroy us all."

Wulf awoke in a bed for the first time in weeks, her wrists still sore from the binds. She was grateful for Alvor and Sigrid's generosity. Their house was warm and she could smell something cooking in the main room. She noticed a small face peering over the side of the bed. A small voice came from it.  
"Hello."  
Wulf pryed her eyes open to see Dorthe standing just beside her.  
"Dorthe, is it?"  
The young girl nodded. Wulf smiled at her.  
"Good morning, Dorthe. To what news am I greeted upon waking?"  
Dorthe giggled and pointed towards the door to the hallway. Wulf pulled herself out of bed and reached for her armour. Dorthe shook her head and Wulf raised an eyebrow.  
"We must make haste?"  
Dorthe nodded vigorously and grabbed Wulf's borrowed nightgown and began tugging at it, pulling her out of the room.  
They snuck down to Hadvar's room, at the end of the hall. The door was open a crack, and Wulf could just see in. Hadvar was lying on top of the blankets on his face, splayed out like an overgrown starfish. He snuffled occasionally. Wulf suppressed a giggle. Dorth smiled widely, grateful that Wulf shared her amusement. He began to stir as Wulf closed the door and began to sneak back to her room. They froze in the hallway as he mumbled from behind the door, opening it to look out.  
"Dorthe, is that you?"  
Instead of finding Dorthe giggling from around the corner, he saw Wulf and Dorthe both frozen in the middle of the hallway. Wulf looked skinnier without her armour on, and her body looked a lot more fragile than Hadvar had thought it was. Her wrists had visible blisters on them, no doubt from the binds that kept them together only yesterday. Her nightgown barely covered her legs, having borrowed it from his Sigrid, who was much shorter than her. Hadvar blushed and shut the door, trying to regain his composure. Outside in the hall, Wulf began to laugh, knowing that Hadvar had likely never seen anyone but his family dressed as such. Dorthe giggled and ran off to the main room to help her mother prepare breakfast. Wulf meandered back to her room, sitting down on the bed. She spread her right palm and focused, feeling the warm light of a healing spell pool in her hand. She placed her hand over her wrist, feeling the blisters soothe and begin to heal. They weren't so bad on her right wrist, so she decided to let them heal naturally. Too much magic usage could often cause extra problems later on, especially for small things.  
Once she had put her armour on, Wulf flexed and stretched, feeling the leather hug her skin. What to do now? She needed to get to Whiterun and see if she could try to sort out this dragon mess so that Riverwood wasn't in danger. She pulled her boots on and went through to the main room, Hadvar sitting at the table watching Sigrid cook with hungry eyes. When he noticed Wulf entering, he blushed slightly and then cleared his throat.  
"Good morning, Wulf."  
Sigrid and Dorthe looked at him and gave knowing smiles to Wulf, who began to laugh.  
"I believe I was a first for Hadvar, Sigrid. Your nightgown was a little short for me."  
They laughed as Hadvar turned bright red and put his head on the table. Sigrid spoke through her laughter.  
"Aye, guess yer not as experienced in being a man as you think you are, nephew!" She looked at Hadvar and Wulf, deciding to leave them be for a moment. "Dorthe, we're almost out of milk, why don't you come with me and help me with the cows?"  
Dorthe jumped up and ran out the door, leaving Sigrid to follow after her. As she shut the door behind her, she called back to Wulf and Hadvar  
"Make sure the pot doesn't boil over!"  
Hadvar was silent as Wulf sat down beside the cooking pot, stirring the contents occasionally. She gazed at the bubbling stew, her eyes coming in and out of focus.  
"You know, there's nothing wrong with not having been with someone, whether physically or romantically or any of those things."  
Hadvar sighed in his chair.  
"I know, but I'm in my twenties. I'm basically halfway through my life and no one has ever been interested in me.  
Wulf walked over to the table and pulled a chair around to face the cooking pot.  
"Yes, and that happens. You just have to hope, and maybe get out into the world a bit more. Maybe you'll meet someone in the legion?"  
Hadvar pulled his chair over to face the pot across from Wulf.  
"Yeah, but what if they die? That's the danger of war, losing someone you care about."  
They sat in silence for a few moments, watching the cooking pot bubble. Dorthe bounded through the front door followed by a milk laden Sigrid. Her voice strained a little as she talked.  
"Could you help me, Wulf?"  
A few minutes later and all the milk was poured into jugs and put into the underground cold box in the cellar. A structure made of little but wood and soil, it was dug into the cold ground to keep the milk from spoiling. Sigrid wiped her hands on her apron and thanked Wulf.  
"So, is Hadvar alright?"  
Wulf nodded.  
"Yeah, but I'd keep off with the jokes for now. Maybe someday you can tease him again."  
Sigrid nodded and sighed.  
"He's just like his father, his kindness makes it hard for him to accept the reality of his life and with the war and all, he doesn't want to hurt anyone by them losing him, or the other way around."  
Wulf shut the cold box lid and sat down on a nearby stool.  
"Yeah, I know about war. How old do you think I am, Sigrid?"  
Sigrid moved up to Wulf and looked at her closely.  
"I'd say you were about twenty, by human standards."  
Wulf chuckled.  
"I'm fifty-three."  
Sigrid looked almost shocked for a moment, then realised that with her Elven blood, Wulf was more long-lived than most humans.  
"I see, so you were alive for the great war, then?"  
Wulf nodded.  
"That I was, it wasn't pretty. The people I lived with then were killed and I just barely escaped with my life. I can't even remember where exactly we were living now, some small settlement in the south of Cyrodiil." Wulf stood up. "But that's a story for another day, we should check on the food and make sure Hadvar and Dorthe are alright."  
Sigrid eyed Wulf carefully. She had obviously been through a lot, but she wasn't willing to offer details. They went back upstairs to find Dorthe and Hadvar crouched over the cooking pot, watching it intently. Dorthe turned to Sigrid.  
"Do you think it's done yet, mama?"  
Sigrid smiled and took a look into the pot.  
"I think it might be, but you know - a watched pot never boils."

After breakfast, Wulf decided to set off for Whiterun. Not a long journey, but she was bound to get held up by one thing or another. Sigrid packed a small bundle of food for her, giving her an old motheaten cape that fell to Wulf's knees. Hadvar gave her a brief hug, his face serious and sombre.  
"You know which way to go, right? Just over the hill. Follow the road, you can't miss it. Tell the Jarl that Riverwood is in danger of dragons, that I sent you, if he doesn't believe that I did, tell him Alvor did. Uncle and Jarl Balgruuf knew each other as boys." Hadvar fussed over Wulf, giving her advice about the road ahead and the dangers. She laughed and hugged him tight.  
"Thank you for everything, Hadvar." She turned to Sigrid and Dorthe, who was holding onto her mother's skirt. "Thank you too, Sigrid. I'll be back soon enough, hopefully." Wulf bent down to Dorthe's height. "I'll bring back lots of exciting stories to tell you, okay?" Dorthe nodded and smiled, eyes shining.  
Wulf stood up and began walking down to the bridge. Whiterun wasn't far, but it was a longer walk than a horseride. The imperial stone road stretched before her, and with sun at her back, Wulf was off on her way once more. 


End file.
